


Knowing

by eternaleponine



Series: Ghosts That We Knew [8]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:12:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deleted scene between Steve and his mother that takes place before the events of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/531381/chapters/942536">Ghosts That We Knew</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knowing

He knew. He pretended not to know, but he knew. He remembered the first time; it hadn't been that long ago (although it felt like a lifetime). He remembered the way his mother had seemed to slow down – the way she moved, the way she spoke, even the way she breathed – at half the speed she'd used to.

It was happening again.

He knew.

It wasn't really warm enough for a picnic, especially on the beach, but here they were anyway, basking in the sun even though little of their skin was actually exposed to it. Steve stayed close to her mother, watching her out of the corner of his eye, waiting.

She'd woken him up that morning and said, "Let's play hooky." He was pretty sure that no one used that term anymore, and he'd told her so and they'd both laughed. She'd smiled at him and ruffled his hair and brought him his nebulizer because it was spring and all of the pollen in the air made his asthma act up. It had been a long time since she'd set it up for him; he knew how to do it himself and had been doing so for years.

"We'll go to the bed," she'd said. "Have a picnic. It'll be fun." But the cheer in her voice was forced, and Steve wondered if she thought she was fooling him (because she wasn't) and whether it was really for his benefit or if she needed to do it for herself, to get through the day and the conversation they were going to have.

They'd packed the car and he'd told her he would drive (because she looked so tired even though she was trying to hide it, but he didn't say that) and she let him (which told him everything he needed to know because she'd hated teaching him to drive because she hated being a passenger, said it made her anxious and queasy, and finally she'd had to hire someone to teach him even though they couldn't really afford it) and they hadn't said much because they were lost in their own worlds.

He'd unpacked the blanket and the chairs from the trunk and set it all up, and carried the picnic basket while his mother held on to his arm. By the time they sat down they were both wheezing slightly.

_It's okay, Mom,_ Steve thought. _You can just say it._

But she didn't. She closed her eyes and let the sun kiss her face and she took deep breaths of the salty air and smiled to herself. Steve didn't know what there was to smile about but when she opened her eyes he smiled back at her anyway because that's just what you did when someone was putting on a brave face for you.

"Why don't you run and play?" she suggested, like he was seven instead of seventeen.

"I'm okay," he said. "I'll just read."

"Okay." She closed her eyes again and after a little while Steve set up the umbrella so she wouldn't burn.

She woke up for lunch, and they talked about school and his plans for the summer and for after that – graduation, college, hopes and dreams and everything she might not be there for until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Mom," he said. "Mom, please."

She looked at him, smiled, sighed. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"It's not your fault," Steve said.

"I know." She did know. Steve knew that. But he could see the guilt in her eyes, and it wasn't just from keeping secrets (and how long had she known, anyway?). It was more than that, deeper, darker.

"What happens now?"

"I fight it," she said. "But it's going to be harder this time. The cancer has spread and you remember how they had to keep changing my medicine the last time?" Steve nodded. "It means they've got fewer things to try this time around, and they're a lot... harsher. The side effects..."

He took her hands. "What happens..." His breath caught. How could he make himself say the words? He took a deep breath and it came out a wheeze and his voice cracked like he was thirteen. "What if you... what if..."

The words wouldn't come. He knew what he wanted – no, not wanted – needed to say but the words stuck in his throat in a hard, tight knot that he couldn't swallow.

"What if it doesn't work?" his mother supplied. "I don't know. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, but we're not there yet." She squeezed his hands. "We're not there yet. I'll fight."

That wasn't the question he wanted to ask but it was the answer he wanted to hear. Except he remembered what it had taken out of her last time, and he saw every day that she had never completely recovered. She was still his mom, still as warm and loving and encouraging as ever, but she was somehow... diminished. The spirit was willing but the flesh was weak.

Silence stretched between them. They listened to the waves rushing in and retreating. Steve didn't know if the tide was coming in or going out, or if it mattered. He tried to time his breathing to match but it left him gasping.

"Mom?"

She looked at him, but she didn't force a smile this time and he was glad. Ther ewereally wasn't anything to smile about. "What, sweetheart?"

"What if... what if you didn't?"

"What if I didn't what?" But she knew. Steve knew she knew, knew she'd thought about it, maybe been encouraged to think about it by her doctors because it had been bad last time and this time would be worse and there was only so much a body could take.

"Fight," he said. "What if you didn't fight?"

"Steve, don't even say that. Don't you worry that I won't—"

"No. No, Mom, that's not it. That's not what I'm asking."

"Six months," she sighed. "If I'm lucky."

"If you do?"

"Realistically? A year or two. It's unlikely I would go into full remission again. We might be able to slow the progress but... that's about it. Remission is possible but it's... unlikely."

"But you would be sick the whole time."

"I'll be sick either way, sweetheart."

"I know, but..." _But at least you wouldn't be torturing yourself for a few extra months._ "But you can fight even without... chemicals."

"Maybe," she said. "I don't know."

"It's up to you," he said. The words hurt, but they were true. The decision was hers, in the end. "Just... you don't have to... for me."

"Okay," she said. "Okay, sweetheart." She pushed herself up and held out her hand, waiting for him to take it. She led him down to the shore, and they didn't say anything else about it, but they didn't need to. They knew.

**Author's Note:**

> For [itsleanneyall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/itsleanneyall/pseuds/itsleanneyall).


End file.
